


sense don't make what it used to be

by marquis



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Boston Flowers, Character Study, Multi, This is the polycule NO ONE asked for, but also i am more than happy to provide, not entirely lore compliant but humor me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis/pseuds/marquis
Summary: There are few universal truths in the world. Of those that Jacob has known, very few have remained consistent in the end.An example: He used to think umpires were just normal, regular people. He used to think they probably wouldn’t go on a murderous rampage across the field. He used to think a lot of things.Of the things he still knows to be true, Jacob Haynes is absolutely certain he is nothing special.(A Jacob Haynes character study about what it means to be a human, a monster, or anything in between. Also, Jacob falls in love!)
Relationships: Alaynabella Hollywood/Jacob Haynes, Alaynabella Hollywood/Jacob Haynes/Moses Mason, Alaynabella Hollywood/Moses Mason, Jacob Haynes/Moses Mason
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16
Collections: No Single Flower Wilted





	sense don't make what it used to be

**Author's Note:**

> so hello. i have many feelings about jacob "just a guy" haynes. how surreal would it be, as a normal human, to constantly be confronted with monstrous things? more importantly, how surreal would it be to become the object of not one, but TWO hot celebrities' affections? in this essay i will...
> 
> a few brief things:
> 
> 1) this is NOT entirely lore-compliant. i've taken a lot of liberties with the general idea of what's on the wiki. the main aspect of this, as you may well notice, is that moses mason is not a concrete-plant hybrid. i became aware of that particular modification well after i had started to think about this fic. so they're a hot, mostly-human former actor here, and slowly becoming more plant by day but not like... outrageously so. sorry, not sorry, let jacob kiss hot people. also, layna is bi in this one. dunno if that's lore-compliant or not. but hey, now you know what to expect!
> 
> 2) thank you to jaz for the editing, the proofreading, the support and reassurance, the everything. this thing would not have been written without you! which you very well know, as i've told you many times.
> 
> title from “hold me down” by the happy fits. a lot of their songs are the right vibe here but tbh i listened to a lot of narcissist cookbook and crane wives while writing so go nuts.

A scream echoes through the garden in the early hours of Sunday morning, sending clouds of warblers and crows into the air. Jacob is out of his room in seconds, dressed haphazardly in whatever was closest and wielding a spare bat.

“Hello?” Jacob calls. “Everyone okay?”

A long, drawn-out wail echoes down the hall, followed by what sounds like sobbing. A few players have poked their heads out, dazed and still half-asleep. Jacob walks toward the noise, checking everyone as he walks past: Inez, humming ever so slightly; Moses, shedding petals on the ground as they shake their hair out of their eyes. Nic’s door is still closed, so presumably he hasn’t got his hearing aids in, the lucky bastard, and hasn’t woken up despite the commotion.

The crying is coming from the end of the hall, the captain’s room. The door is cracked open and sunlight is pooling on the floor.

“Beck?” Jacob calls, tentatively. “Everything okay?”

It’s only after he’s asked that he remembers. Beck is gone, traded to Miami in the feedback. This is Hahn’s space, at least until they can give her something more her speed.

“I’m not Beck!” A shoe flies out of the doorway. “Take me back to the Hellmouth!”

That doesn’t sound like Hahn, either. Jacob pushes the door open enough to peer inside, bat still held at the ready.

Alaynabella Hollywood, bestselling young adult novelist and batter for the Hellmouth Sunbeams, is sitting on the floor of Beck’s old room and wearing a Flowers jersey. She looks up, eye makeup smudged and lips twisted halfway into a snarl.

 _Hellhound_ , Jacob thinks, although he can’t remember how he knows it. He pushes the door open further and drops his bat, holding both hands up in surrender.

“Uh, hello,” he says. “I’m Jacob. Jacob Haynes? I play for the Flowers. I guess election results are in.”

Alaynabella sniffs. Jacob isn’t sure if she’s still crying or trying to recognize his scent. Either way, he thinks, he was not prepared for this situation so early in his day. She looks him up and down with red, puffy eyes.

“Does the welcome party always show up without pants on?” she asks. Jacob can tell she’s trying to scare him off.

Well. There are worse ways to greet someone, Jacob thinks, looking down to find he is in fact only wearing boxers and a bathrobe. At least this way he’s nonthreatening.

A hand falls heavily on his shoulder. Jacob looks away from Alaynabella to find Moses beside him. They’re dressed just as haphazardly as Jacob in a long linen shirt and bunny slippers; somehow, they pull it off.

“I got this one, bud,” they say. “Leave it to someone who’s been swapped before.”

Jacob nods and steps back out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.

\--

There are few universal truths in the world. Of those that Jacob has known, very few have remained consistent in the end.

An example: He used to think umpires were just normal, regular people. He used to think they probably wouldn’t go on a murderous rampage across the field. He used to think peanuts weren’t going to fall from the sky, and his blood would, for the most part, stay in his body. He used to think a lot of things.

Of the things he still knows to be true, Jacob Haynes is absolutely certain he is nothing special.

\--

It is a perfectly normal day in the Boston Gardens. Average and unremarkable. The sun is shining, the Flowers are tidying up the yard, and Jacob is lost in the undergrowth.

This is not standard. In fact, Jacob is pretty sure no one has _ever_ gotten lost in their own stadium before. One minute, he was well within sight of the rest of the team as they plucked out weeds and harvested vegetables; the next, the tree canopy was too thick for sunlight to properly penetrate and ivy was creeping over his shins.

“Hey guys?” Jacob calls out. He turns around for the fifteenth time, trying to determine which way he came from. “Hiroto, Zeb? Can anyone hear me?”

He gets literal crickets in response. Jacob didn’t even know there were crickets out at this time of day.

“Perfect,” he mutters, kicking a root away from his foot. It creeps right back; sometimes, he hates this place. “Are there magical forest spirits out here? Who do I have to pray to for an exit strategy?”

No one answers.

Jacob sighs. He closes his eyes and spins, just enough to disorient himself, and points a finger straight in front of him.

“I’m going this way. If that’s wrong, please let me know somehow before I end up in quicksand or sacrificed to a demonic tree entity.”

No one answers. Of course they don’t; he’s talking to a circle of trees, probably less than twenty feet from the field and his teammates. He’s actually kind of glad no one can hear this. Jacob starts off in his randomly chosen direction, hoping for some kind of miracle that will take him straight to his rooms so he can lie down and pretend none of this ever happened.

It takes him a few minutes to realize everything has gone quiet. Not the sort of quiet he’s used to in the gardens, either; this is the kind of quiet that hits just before an ump goes rogue in a solar eclipse. The hairs on Jacob’s neck stand at attention, and he feels almost as though he’s being watched.

He sees the eyes way too late to do anything about it. By then, a heaping mass of fur and teeth is already leaping from the shadows to tackle him to the ground.

Jacob screams louder than he ever has in his life before the thing hits him, knocking the breath from his lungs. He finds himself underneath a golden lion, its muzzle pressed against the side of his face.

It takes about thirty seconds for Jacob to realize he isn’t being torn to pieces. Even then, it’s only because he hears someone else shouting.

“Elvis!” Alaynabella yells, breaking through the trees. “You made it!”

The lion – Elvis? – hops off of Jacob, running toward her.

“Wait, Alayna-“ he starts, but the lion gets there faster. He watches as Alaynabella kneels and starts scratching behind its ears, cooing and murmuring softly.

Jacob pushes himself off the ground slowly, doing everything in his power not to attract the thing’s attention. “Is this your _pet?_ ”

Alaynabella finally seems to notice Jacob. She straightens up and smiles, grin just shy of too sharp. “Thank you for finding him. I was worried he wouldn’t make it to us.”

“Where did he.” Jacob stops. Tries again. “Why do you…”

She tilts her head to one side. Beside her, Elvis mimics the motion; his yellow eyes track Jacob’s every move without blinking.

“Hollywood, do you realize you’re standing next to a _lion?”_ he settles on finally. It seems easiest to be straightforward about it.

“Oh, that’s not his fault,” Alaynabella says. “He used to be a kitten. The Hellmouth does that kind of thing. Sandy told me he ran away after I was swapped; I thought maybe traveling through the interdimensional portals would switch him back, but maybe he’s just stuck this way now.”

Jacob shudders. He’s never liked the idea of the Hellmouth, never liked seeing what it did to the people who went there.

“Sorry to hear about that,” he tries, for lack of anything else to say. “That must have really sucked.”

“The Garden does the same thing, you know,” she says. “Or could Moses always pull flowers out of his hair?”

Jacob has a brief moment of panic, reaching up to touch his own hair. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief to find there’s nothing out of the ordinary there, nothing sprouting out of him. It’s not that he doesn’t understand, he thinks; he’d just rather stay the way he is.

“I guess you’re right,” Jacob says. “Sorry, Alaynabella. I’m glad you found your… cat.”

She snorts. “You can call me Layna, you know. Everybody else does.”

With that, Layna turns on her heel and marches off, Elvis trailing behind her. Jacob, without much of an option, follows after.

\--

Jacob wakes up every morning and follows what he would say is a pretty ordinary routine, all things considered. He’s adapted it since he was brought onto the Flowers, sure, but the broad strokes are still the same.

He gets out of bed and brushes his teeth. Throws on some workout clothes, calls the local deli to place a coffee order for himself and the other early risers.

He goes for a run through the Commons, down to the Government Center and then over to the Harbor. The coffee is ready for pickup by the time he gets there, and he brings it back to the common room where King, Nic and Zeb are talking over plans for the day.

Jacob distributes the drinks and takes some time to drink his own, decaf even at 7 a.m., and then he takes a shower.

After that, he stands in front of the mirror and carefully, thoroughly checks his hair for flowers.

\--

The weather in Boston is never as bad as on game days. Jacob’s not entirely sure what it is about stepping out onto the field that makes the clouds change, that draws hordes of crows to the bleachers. He doesn’t think he ever noticed before he started playing. But maybe that’s because it wasn’t threatening him.

It’s blooddrain today. The sky is hidden behind bloated burgundy clouds, sun casting a deep red glow across the gardens. But the main giveaway, Jacob thinks, is his heartbeat. He can feel it in every part of himself, from his fingers to his toes to the tips of his ears. It’s… unpleasant.

The game hasn’t even started yet. Fans are wandering slowly to their seats and the Dale are out on the field practicing. Jacob should be in the locker room getting ready, but he finds himself standing in the dugout watching the sky.

He doesn’t notice Moses until their hand touches his elbow.

“You’ve survived the drain before,” they say, though their face is uncharacteristically dark as they eye the clouds. “It looked rough for you, but Keyes says it only hurt her a little bit. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad a second time.”

Jacob steps out of the dugout and leans against the fence. Moses follows, knocking their shoulder against his. A few flower petals flutter down from their hair.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but Dunn is a robot,” Jacob says, because sometimes it feels like he has to point these things out just to make sure he isn’t losing his mind. “I don’t think she’s programmed to feel pain like the rest of us.”

Moses shrugs, half-smiling as they glance over at Jacob. “You’re tough, man, you can survive a little blood loss. You can beat whatever this game has to throw at you.”

“Bold words from a blaseball player,” Jacob retorts. “Remind me, what do rogue umpires do again?”

“They take you out for a nice dinner.”

Jacob laughs at that, running a hand over his face. He wishes he could be so callous about all of this, that he could dismiss the nightmares of fireballs and peanuts and birds.

He spots Beck in the outfield, running after pop-ups; he remembers how she looked after Cali, how long it had taken them to get her to a place where she could look them in the eye, just before they lost her in the feedback.

“How do you manage to stay so positive in all of this?” Jacob asks. “How can you joke about things that are literally killing us?”

That seems to give them pause. They tilt their head to the side, surveying the landscape of the garden. Beck finally spots them, waving her gloved hand over her head and calling their names. She’ll be in the locker room later, Jacob knows, inviting them all to the afterparty on the Dale yacht. Jacob waves back; Moses offers a swift salute.

“Blaseball has taken a lot from me since I started. It took my name, my team, my friends. Apparently, it even wants my blood.” Moses’ gaze drifts up toward the heavy sky. “The last thing I’m going to do is let that damn peanut take my happiness.”

Jacob can hear Margo calling for a team huddle in the locker room. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and it halts even the Dale’s pre-game celebrations.

“Come on, Haynes,” Moses says, turning to look at him. Their eyes are such a bright green, stark and shocking in the red light. “We’ve got a game to play.”

\--

The blooddrain hits Layna. She steps up to the plate just in time for lightning to streak across the sky. For a moment, everything is painted a bright, blinding white.

Layna seizes up, letting out a scream that almost sounds more like a howl. Her bat falls from her hand. In the distance, Jacob thinks he can hear a lion roar.

Rivers Clembons collapses to the ground. A stripe of blood travels down from his nose, staining his jersey, dripping onto the sand. Everything is still as Layna’s scream fades. She’s resting her hands on her knees and breathing heavily.

Jacob remembers how he felt that first time, the way his muscles throbbed and ached and his heart pounded. Instinctively, he fills a paper cup at the water cooler and runs it out to her, oblivious to the shouts of his teammates as he pushes his way onto the field.

“Layna,” he says, holding the water out. “Layna, here. Take this.”

At the sound of his voice, her head shoots up. Her eyes are stained with a deep red. Jacob takes a step back, water falling to the ground.

“I think I took his blood,” Layna says. She turns away from him and coughs up bile.

\--

It wasn’t exactly Jacob’s plan to get drunk tonight. They’d played a decent game, for the most part, and no one had died. But it’s always weird seeing Beck in her Dale jersey, remembering she isn’t one of _theirs_ anymore, and he doesn’t really feel like thinking too much about it. So… he’s drunk.

“Hey,” Beck says, leaning in close. The music in this part of the yacht isn’t even that loud; he thinks it’s more for his comfort than anything else. “You still with me, Haynes?”

“You seem happier,” Jacob says, setting his beer down on the table with more force than he needs to. It’s not meant to be accusatory, except he thinks that maybe it is. “Why is everyone so good at adjusting to all of this? Everyone but me, anyway.”

He doesn’t think of Cali until after he says it, when the corners of her mouth twist down. As frustrated as he feels, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Beck has felt the losses of the game more keenly than most.

“Beck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he says, gut twisting as the guilt hits.

Beck shakes her head, waving him off. She’s biting her lip slightly, an old habit Jacob remembers from when she was trying to remember batting averages or translate something Castillo said.

“I am happier, some days,” she says slowly, piecing the sentence together as carefully as she used to clip herbs or trim back roses. “And other days I’m scared. Absolutely terrified, honestly, and lonely, and all those things. It comes and goes.”

“What do you do on those days?” Jacob asks. “On the bad days, how do you manage?”

There aren’t that many people in this section of the yacht. Most of them are on the upper deck where the raves are apparently held. Even a few of the Flowers had decided to spend their evening there, surrounded by the raucous calls of other players and the thundering bassline.

But Beck gestures around the bar anyway, toward the handful of people who have retreated to the relative quiet. It’s almost reminiscent of Margaritoville at the end of party time, everyone retreating to their own space after a long, hard season. Layna and Moses are slumped together in one of the booths, and Rivers and Wyatt Owens are speaking softly at the bar. Qais is behind the counter with a towel, cleaning the dishes.

“I ask for help,” she says. “I ask Jasmine if I can play with their cats, or I call Dominic and check in on the Mills. If that doesn’t work, I put on an old movie and try not to think too much.”

“You mean you don’t go on a hunt for the blood of innocents?” Jacob asks, trying to keep himself from getting lost in the feelings of hopelessness he can feel himself balancing on the brink of.

Beck smiles, and Jacob knows she sees what he’s doing. She’s always been way too good at reading people.

“I prefer a good sangria to a Bloody Mary,” she tells him, and he laughs as she lifts her glass in a silent toast. “Come on, Jake, it’s not all bad. You’re the best player on the team now, you have to learn to stay positive!”

“Funny, Moses told me pretty much the same thing,” Jacob says, glancing over at her. She’s sound asleep against Layna’s shoulder, no risk of being overheard.

“Moses is a smart guy, you should listen to her more.”

Jacob sighs, leaning down to press his head against the bar. “She’s so intimidating,” he mutters, and hopes Beck can’t see the tips of his ears turning pink. “Did you know she has like, superfans? People who hold up signs with her face on it?”

“Oh, Jacob,” Beck is grinning at him, he can hear it in her voice. She tuts, reaching out to pat his arm. “One day, people will ask you for your autograph.”

He rolls his eyes, shaking her hand off. The world is hazy and warm. It’s good Beck is with the Dale now; she’s earned a vacation, an opportunity to be the fun friend instead of the boss.

“No one needs to ask,” Jacob says, voice muffled against the table. “It’s just a real big ‘J’ and a scribble. I don’t even do the last name. Just Jacob. A kindergartener could forge it. Not like – not like Moses, or Layna. Have you seen hers? It’s like a maze.”

“Alaynabella Hollywood has enough letters in her name to make a self-portrait,” Beck says. She places a hand on Jacob’s head and gently pets his hair; it’s something she never would have done before. “We can practice your autograph right now if you want. Make it something cool.”

Jacob hears the echoes of people screaming, the sign of celebration in other parts of the ship. He’s lucky to have people like Beck in his life, he thinks, who will sit with him and pet his hair and let him feel lost.

Moses’ words come back to him: _The last thing I’m going to do is let that damn peanut take my happiness._

Jacob lifts his head to look at Beck, with her too-sharp teeth and her pale skin. He remembers the way she used to hold herself, so stiff she looked ready to break. She never did.

“You’re the strongest person I know, Beck,” he says. He means it with every drunken fiber of his being.

Beck laughs, caught off guard. It’s nice to see her smile.

\--

No one dies. They’re barely hit by anything other than blooddrain, and for once in Jacob’s life he can look around the locker room without skipping over a blacked-out nameplate. Everyone is cheering as the election comes to a close, the conclusion to what might have been the worst, most boring season they’ve ever had.

“Congratulations!” Margo yells, stepping onto a bench to tower over them all. Xir hair is a mess, sweaty and falling in xir face. “To the worst team in the league, my favorite losers, the Boston Flowers!”

Jacob cheers along with everyone else, leans into the arms wrapped around his shoulders. Someone, he thinks it’s Nic, pops a bottle of champagne and sprays foam all over Margo. Margo pulls Nic up onto the bench with xir, kissing him soundly on the cheek.

It’s never been about winning anyway, Jacob thinks. It’s only ever been about this.

\--

The thing about having a hellhound on the team is, it really gets in the way of essential oil use. Jacob doesn’t begrudge Layna her sensitive nose; he just wishes he could put a little lavender on his wrists or something without worrying about giving her a migraine.

He’s tried to cut back on it a little bit, moved all of his things out of the dugout and into his bedroom and stuck with the lighter scents. So he’s a little surprised one day when Moses comes into the common room smelling overwhelmingly of mayflowers.

“Layna is going to _hate_ you,” Jacob says, staring at him incredulously as he measures out coffee grounds. “You’re gonna take her out of the game today.”

Moses looks at Jacob over his shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything to her.”

“The perfume, Moses!” Jacob waves a hand in his direction. “It smells like you just spilled a bottle of air freshener on your jersey.”

Moses flips the switch on the coffeemaker and turns around to face Jacob, leaning against the counter. “I don’t wear perfume,” he says, “and I’m certainly not wearing enough right now to justify this kind of reaction.”

Jacob considers that for a moment. He thinks over a few possibilities: Moses is lying, Gloria and Castillo sprayed him with pollen as a joke, or Moses has been consumed by some kind of plant monster, with whom Jacob is currently speaking.

“What’s something you know that no one else would?” Jacob asks, aiming for casual but ending up somewhere much closer to slightly unhinged conspiracy theorist.

Moses hums, crossing his arms over his chest. “Everyone who was part of the Wyatt Masoning shares an unbreakable telepathic bond.”

“Really?” Jacob sits up so fast he almost falls off the couch.

“No.” Moses is laughing, even as he tries to fight it back. “But I should get brownie points for name-dropping a pivotal life event.”

“Fine, you pass.”

They’re quiet for a bit as Mason finishes his coffee routine. The soft sounds of birds from the garden mix with cars passing by outside. Jacob leans back against the couch again and closes his eyes, lets himself zone out for a minute.

“I think it’s the flowers,” Mason says. He sits down on the couch next to Jacob and offers him a mug, still steaming and straight black.

Jacob accepts it, nodding in thanks. “We’re all the Flowers, bud,” he intones.

“No, the – the perfume,” Moses says, gesturing to his hair. “I think you’re smelling the flowers in my hair.”

Jacob leans forward, not quite close enough to touch but definitely enough to determine the source. It’s so strong he almost starts coughing, has to swallow past the itch in his throat. He pulls back, rubbing his nose.

“Is it uncomfortable?” Jacob asks. He wants to reach out and touch the petals, wonders if Moses would feel it; he doesn’t try.

“The Wyatt Masoning was awful,” Mason says. It doesn’t answer the question, but Jacob doesn’t interrupt. “What happened when— when Wyatt spoke into the microphone, it was like every atom in my body was hit with an electric pulse. Like someone tossed me in a blender and mixed me up.”

Jacob makes a face at that, more than a little disturbed. Moses pats him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, it felt pretty gross. And then I, well. We. None of us knew who we were. For _weeks_ , Jake,” Moses says. His voice is so quiet Jacob almost needs to lean in to hear him. “Even now, there are things about Moses Simmons I don’t remember. It helps to be around Ace and all, to see the man who raised me and taught me to throw a ball. But that kind of thing screws with you.”

No one else is in the room, but Jacob feels claustrophobic anyway. He can’t imagine anything like that, even after everything he’s seen. It’s one thing to be traded away or killed; it’s another to be made into someone else’s image and claw your way back, even just part of the way.

“At least this thing, the garden, is slow. It’s giving me time to adjust. If I’m going to go full Roses, I’ll know it’s coming.” Moses plucks one of the flowers and holds it out to Jacob. “You’ve lived here longer, maybe you’ll know. Does this happen often? Am I going to be more plant than person one day?”

It’s exactly the wrong question to ask Jacob. He takes the flower carefully between two fingers, tries not to look too closely at the vines creeping down Mason’s temples.

“I hope not,” Jacob says, and manages by some miracle to keep his voice level. “I have a hard time understanding Castillo and Gloria, I don’t think I could manage another weird plant language.”

Mason huffs a laugh and bumps against Jason’s side, almost spilling both of their coffees in the process. “Don’t worry, Jake. I think you’ll always be able to understand me.”

Looking over at him now, this former Hollywood star full of life and vigor and hope, Jacob thinks that couldn’t be further from the truth. But he’ll always be willing to try.

\--

It’s nearly midnight when he gets a text from Dunn, demanding with far too much urgency that he _turn on BNN RIGHT NOW, Haynes!_ He doesn’t have any idea what could possibly necessitate such a reaction, even after he turns the television on.

It’s a picture of his face, below a banner reading “Rookies To Watch.”

_they’re joking, right? i’ve literally been here forever_

But the announcers don’t seem to be joking.

“We don’t know where this guy came from. Apparently he’s been on the roster the whole time, but I’ve never seen him before,” the announcer says, laughing. “The Flowers had the worst season of their tenure last year, but not for lack of trying. Haynes was a pivotal part of that.”

The shot changes to three people gathered around a table, surrounded by pictures and videos of Jacob. Jacob hitting a double, Jacob getting tagged out for trying to steal second, his jersey running across the screen over and over.

 _This is my nightmare_ , Jacob tells Dunn. He’s torn between turning the TV off and waiting to see what they have to say. He’s leaning toward the latter.

“I guess they had to find someone else to be star hitter after Whitney was swapped,” one co-host responds. “He’s no Nagomi McDaniel or Jess Telephone, but uh…”

“At least that way he’s safe from the shells,” the third correspondent finishes off, pointing to a screen displaying the idol board. Jacob’s name isn’t on it; it’s never even come close.

The Flowers don’t get this kind of coverage, generally speaking. At least, they haven’t in a while. Even when they had Beck, they were hardly worth writing home about most of the time. Coverage on BNN should be a big deal; he just wishes it weren’t at his expense.

“He’s not the best at stealing bases. But with a batting average like that, he’s definitely one to keep an eye on heading into the next season, at least in Wild Low.”

Jacob’s phone goes off again, another notification from Dunn. _Not bad for just a guy!_

“With the Flowers’ luck, he’ll be incinerated in the first game.”

Jacob thinks of the sun drifting behind the moon. He thinks of the way the field goes silent, wildlife and players holding their breath as they wait to see if an ump will transform into something much worse.

He turns the television off.

\--

Alaynabella Hollywood is a famous author. Distantly, Jacob knew this about her. It’s just that it never came up before now.

He’s standing in the public library’s fiction section, staring at a line of half a dozen books with her name pressed into the spines. He glances over the titles. The Splintered Sanctuary; On Stardust Hill; The Wolves of Gold and Mist. The paperbacks are creased and worn, spines splitting near the center.

They don’t seem to be connected at all. Jacob, on impulse, grabs one from the shelf and adds it to his growing collection. He turns heel, prepared to slip out of the aisle and never mention it to anyone.

Except Layna is standing there at the end of the aisle. She’s holding a latte in one hand, head tilted to the side. “Did you just take one of my books?”

Jacob can feel his face heating up. “I just saw them as I walked past, I was mostly here to pick up something for Zeb.”

“That explains… a little bit,” Layna says, walking forward to stand beside him. Jacob resists the urge to take a step back as she peers at the titles remaining on the shelf. “What kind of books do you like, Jake? I’m not about to let you think my writing is terrible because you picked a bad sample.”

“I’m not much of a reader,” Jacob admits. “I like things that are quick, mostly. Nothing too complicated.”

“That’s fine, but not what I meant,” she tells him, and Jacob catches a hint of a smile. “Genre preferences? Do you have a gender preference for the protagonist? Romance or no?”

Layna is dressed up today, more professional than Jacob has ever seen her. She’s got a skirt and a sweater on under a long trench coat, hair brushed out into rolling waves. She’s even wearing lipstick, a dark red that – however unfortunately – makes Jacob think of the way she looked after draining Rivers, so red it’s almost black.

“Which one do you think is the best one?” Jacob asks.

Layna turns away from the bookshelf and looks at the collection of books in Jacob’s hands. She leans close and pushes his fingers out of the way; her hand is warm from the coffee.

“Jacob, did you know you have a book on protection spells in here?” she asks. “Who is that one for?”

He’d been really hoping she wouldn’t see that one.

“It’s, uh. Chambers?” he says, and immediately knows it’s the wrong answer.

Layna looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Really.”

“No.”

She nods and pulls the book from his hands, careful not to dislodge the rest of his pile. “I wouldn’t recommend using random books from the occult section to protect yourself from the whims of blaseball gods,” she tells him. “Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone who has found success that way. And I lived in the Hellmouth.”

“Did people actually try that?” Jacob has never considered it before, the idea that the Sunbeams would try to prevent the weird things that happen to them. It always seemed like they embraced their individual curses, whatever forms they took.

“Sometimes.” Layna turns back to the books on the shelf and plucks one out, giving it to Jacob. “Try that one for starters. If you like it, I can give you a few more recommendations.”

“Did you ever try it? Or were you always…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s not sure how to phrase it that won’t end with getting chewed out, literally or figuratively.

Layna taps her nails against the spell book, lips pulled to one side. “Does it actually matter?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob says, shifting the books to hold them more comfortably. The book on top glares up at him: The Haunting of Helena Declan, by Alaynabella Hollywood. “Just curious, I guess.”

“I used to feel bad about myself for being what I am. A lot of my books focus on that, even though I didn’t notice it at the time.” Layna leads Jacob out of the aisle and drops the book she confiscated onto a return cart. “I don’t feel that way anymore. I know it scares you – what I am, it scares a lot of people. Regardless of how I got this way, though, I’m just as much myself as I’ve ever been.”

“You don’t scare me,” Jacob says automatically.

Layna smiles, sharp canines glinting. It reminds Jacob, suddenly, of Beck. The comparison isn’t too far off, he thinks; they’re both intimidating in their own ways, although he’d had plenty of time to adjust to Beck in the early seasons.

“It’s fine, Jake,” she says. “Roses warned me the whole transformation thing freaks you out sometimes. I get it. When Randy first grew his horns in, I couldn’t look at him without wondering what else the Hellmouth was going to do to him.”

In the time Layna has been on the Flowers, Jacob doesn’t think he’s heard her mention Randy once. She doesn’t even seem to realize she’s done it until after, lifting a hand to cover her mouth and turning away. Jacob wants more than anything to make her feel better, but he’s not sure he can.

“When Beck first transformed in front of me, I thought I was hallucinating,” he tries. “I didn’t – I didn’t really know what I was getting into, back then. I’d watched blaseball for a while, but I thought a lot of the storylines were made up, like professional wrestling or something. I didn’t realize she was an _actual_ vampire until after I’d signed my contract.”

Layna laughs. It sounds a little wet, and she wipes her eyes with her free hand. “Did no one bother to tell you? Wasn’t that in the minor league?”

“Oh, sure,” Jacob presses on. “There were all sorts in the minor league. I just thought they were really committed to the bit, you know? It just seemed like a good way to stand out around recruiters.”

“That explains so much about how you turned out this way.” Layna shakes her head and finally looks back at him, eyes still misty. “How have you survived for this long?”

“I ask myself that question every single day, Hollywood. I’m pretty sure everyone else does, too.”

Together, they make their way to the checkout counter. Jacob takes the book Layna recommended for him and drops it in his bag, separate from the ones he’d picked up for other members of the team. They step out of the library into the cool autumn afternoon, headed toward the garden.

\--

An excerpt from The Haunting of Helena Declan, by Alaynabella Hollywood:

_Helena wakes the next morning in the middle of the woods, surrounded by blood and broken branches. It’s hard to tell if it’s hers or the remains of something that crossed her path. She wishes more than anything that Mother were here to give her guidance on the transformations._

_The palace will never allow her back in this state. She pushes her way to standing despite the way her body aches and protests. There may be a stream nearby, somewhere for her to rinse herself off and clean the worst of the grime from her nightclothes._

_It’s cold. She hadn’t noticed that before. The Beast is always focused on other things, too busy running and tracking to think about the temperatures. She misses the weight of fur against her. She never wants to feel it again. She doesn’t know which is the better option, the right thing to want._

_“I never should have opened that book,” Helena mutters to herself, kicking an acorn with her bare foot. “If I ever find that Warlock again, I’ll have his head on a silver platter. See how he likes it.”_

_Even thinking of him doesn’t distract her from the cold. Frost crunches underfoot and her fingers are red already. She wonders if, perhaps, she might be able to transform on her own to stay warm._

_“Beast, if you can hear me, I need you to follow my instructions very carefully.” Helena stretches out a hand. “Keep me warm. Find water.”_

_Pain rips through her like red-hot iron. Her nails extend rapidly to claws, and fur crawls its way up her arms. Helena screams, but by the end, it sounds like the Beast’s roar._

\--

Cactuses are a plague on the world, Jacob thinks, plucking yet another spine from his finger. He was wearing gloves earlier, but some interdimensional entity or mistaken blaseball player has decided he doesn’t need or deserve them for his particular task.

“The greenhouse is important to the team,” he mutters to himself, for the hundredth time this afternoon. “The greenhouse is important to the team, and it would be rude of me to run screaming from an interdimensional garden full of possibly bloodthirsty plants.”

He hadn’t been required to participate in the beautification project before. It was mostly King’s thing, sometimes Owen and Hiroto. But now that Layna’s on their team, and Hahn is on the Sunbeams, Margo has been pushing for everyone to take part to build camaraderie.

A flower with teeth for petals tips threateningly close to his arm. Jacob takes a step back. He hears someone laugh, and turns to find Eugenia Bickle just a few feet away, holding a collection of small pots.

“Watch out for that one, he’s a biter,” she says.

Jacob is relieved for an excuse to stand up and move away from all the plants that apparently thirst for his blood. “Do you need a hand?”

She nods, letting him take a few. “Thanks! I thought I could manage, but they’re heavier than they look.”

“You could have asked for one of us for help,” Sandoval yells from one row over.

Eugenia rolls her eyes. “You can’t handle ceramics after touching the acideaters, Sandy! Remember what happened last time?”

Sandy grumbles something to themself. Jacob thinks he hears the words “barely singed,” and is suddenly relieved he was placed with fairly mundane plants, spines and teeth be damned.

“Where do you want these?” he asks.

“We’re headed to the next room over,” she says, tipping her head toward the doorway. “There are some seedlings that are in need of an upgrade.”

“Are the seedlings carnivorous or predatory?” Jacob asks. “Can they smell fear?”

Sandy barks out a laugh. “You catch on quick, kid!”

“Not these ones,” Eugenia says, but she’s smiling and he can tell she’s trying not to laugh at him too. “We don’t let beginners go near that stuff. Maybe next time you visit?”

“No thanks,” Jacob says automatically. He steps back and waves her forward as best he can. “Lead the way to the completely mundane plants a newbie is allowed to handle.”

The next room is nearly empty but for Nagomi Nava. She’s sitting on a bench beside a bush of star-shaped purple flowers, clipping the branches back. Nightshade, Jacob thinks. He tries not to stare, but she catches him anyway; the eyes on her left side blink in unison as she watches them approach.

“Hey, Gomi!” Eugenia waves a little around her pots. “Do you know where Iggy dropped off those little moonflower vines and sticks? We’ve got to repot them.”

Nagomi is still watching Jacob. Her scissors maintain a steady _snip, snip, snip_ as she talks. “I believe they’re over by the bluestem patch.”

Eugenia places her things down on the floor. Jacob follows suit, and then waits as she goes to search for the plants in question. He shoves his hands into his pockets.

“So…” he starts.

“It doesn’t hurt. I’m still me.” Nagomi says. _Snip, snip._ “The curse isn’t contagious. But you’ll be out of the way momentarily, so no need to worry about that.”

Jacob is actually pretty proud of himself for not running back to Sandoval and the cactuses. He manages to stand his ground, rocking back onto his heels. “That is incredibly unsettling.”

“I get that a lot,” she responds. “Welcome to the Hellmouth. Please don’t stay too long.”

They stay silent for what feels like an eternity. The heat is a palpable thing here, despite efforts to black out the worst of the sun within the greenhouse, and Nagomi’s constant surveillance makes Jacob want to crawl out of his skin. It’s a relief when Eugenia calls Jacob over and he has an excuse to move away, carrying the supplies over to the relative safety of the opposite corner of the room.

“It looks like we’re missing a few of the sticks for these babies. They need the extra support until they’re tall enough to reach the trellises and piping,” Eugenia says, already pulling the seedlings out of their cardboard holders. “There should be some piled up past that divider. Could you grab them for me, Jacob?”

Every room of the Hellmouth Beautification Project has something Jacob isn’t expecting to see, whether it’s a goose controlled by a small English village or a plant that looks like it’s made of bone. This time, he walks in to find Layna and Moses sitting on a bench together, curled into each other’s space and whispering. One of Moses’ flowers is tucked carefully behind Layna’s ear.

Jacob, as quietly as he is able, picks up what he thinks to be the pile of sticks Eugenia was looking for. He turns on his heel and marches right back out, as quickly as he came.

\--

Technically, the Boston Flowers make their money with advertising agreements and sponsorships. Jacob’s salary is covered by a combination of CITGLO and Dunkin, and as long as the checks are properly signed and dated, he doesn’t have to think about it too much.

Sometimes, though, Margarito needs a little extra money for the bar. And CITGLO, despite its bottomless pockets, doesn’t seem to cover that. So instead, Margo hosts a voluntary-but-actually-mandatory meet and greet fundraiser, where Bostonians can shake hands -- or leaves, or whatever the heck Inez has – with their favorite Flowers.

These nights are pretty uneventful for Jacob. He gets to sit at the bar and talk with Nic while people flock to Margo and Moses and King, and sometimes a customer will buy him a drink just because he’s in his jersey.

“Ballpark estimate, Jacob.” Nic leans over the countertop, wearing all black with a towel over his shoulder. He’s helping bartend tonight, which apparently means he doesn’t have to follow the dress code. “How many autographs are you signing tonight?”

Jacob snorts. “Twenty, assuming a dozen people mistake me for you.”

“After all those spots on BNN?” Nic asks. He pulls away and grabs a glass from behind the bar. “I’d say fifty, at least.”

“If you’re right, I’ll buy all your drinks for the rest of the month,” Jacob says, tipping his beer in Nic’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve been recognized by that many people the entire time I’ve been playing this damn game.”

“No cursing!” Margo yells as xe passes behind Nic, pointing at Jacob. “There are going to be families in this establishment, Haynes, I won’t have you ruining the G-rated reputation of our team.”

“We’re easily PG-13,” Jacob says. “I’m allowed at least one fu-“

“Fun evening out at your favorite local bar, yes,” Margo says, grinning widely. “Don’t waste it pissing off your dear old captain.” Xe steps up behind Nic, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Ugh, gross,” Jacob mutters into his glass, without heat.

“You’re one to talk,” Nic retorts.

Before Jacob can ask what he’s even talking about, Layna is sliding into the seat next to him. “You’re sitting with us tonight,” she says, nodding her head toward the booth where Moses is set up. They wave. “We’ve got snacks.”

“Are any of said snacks edible for regular human people?” Jacob asks. He can see at least one empty wine glass on the table already, despite the fact the fundraiser hasn’t started yet.

“That depends. How do you feel about fertilizer and raw animal flesh?”

Jacob grimaces, even though he knows she’s kidding. Layna laughs.

“Yes, Jacob, we have regular human food,” she says. “Margo’s going to keep us properly fed, at least until xe gets sick of us.”

Layna drags Jacob over to the booth in question. He lets her, though more out of confusion than any kind of voluntary motion.

“Welcome to the cool kids’ table,” Moses says, moving to the very end of the circular bench.

Jacob expects Layna to slide into the booth next to them; instead, she waves him forward, seating him in the middle of them both. He’d thought there would be plenty of room for them, but somehow he finds Moses pressed up to his side and Layna’s knee against his under the table.

“Not quite sure why you want me to sit at your table,” Jacob tells them, mostly because he’s at a loss for better things to say. “You’re going to get tired of telling everyone who I am and why I’m here.”

“That’s exactly why we want you with us, actually,” Layna says. “It’s not fair that no one ever pays you any attention. You’re an important part of the team.”

“More than that, you’re good company,” Moses says, draping an arm over the back of the booth. They’re nearly touching Jacob, but not quite there. “Better to have you over here talking to us than sitting quietly at the bar by yourself.”

The smell of their flowers is there, even with the prevalence of popcorn and greasy bar food. Jacob breathes it in and resists the urge to turn toward it. Layna must see something; when he glances over at her, she’s grinning.

People start filing into the bar before long, gripping notepads and jerseys they want signed. It takes just minutes for someone to wander up to their booth, a young girl with eyes the size of saucers holding a worn paperback in her hands.

“Hello there,” Layna says, leaning forward until her eyes are level with the girl’s. “How may I help you?”

“Hello Miss Hollywood,” she says, holding her book out straight in front of her. “I was wondering if you could, um. Sign my copy of your book? Please.”

Layna smiles and takes the book from her hands. “What’s your name?”

“Nola.”

“’To Nola,’” Layna dictates as she writes the words, letters dancing over the page in fanciful cursive. “‘May you find magic and adventure wherever you may look. Love, Layna.’ How’s that?”

“That’s perfect!” Nola is nearly vibrating as she gets her book back, still staring at Layna with wide eyes. It’s adorable, Jacob thinks, seeing her interact with people who enjoy her work this much.

“You should try reading On Stardust Hill next,” Jacob says, instinctively. “I have a cousin about your age, and she says that one’s her favorite.”

Layna looks at him incredulously, clearly surprised. “This is my friend Jacob,” she says to Nola, turning away presumably only to be polite. “He’s a very good blaseball player. Best in the league. And that’s my friend Moses over there, they used to be on television. Would you like their autographs too, Nola?”

Nola nods, though Jacob is absolutely sure she does not recognize or care about either one of them. “Yes, please!”

Layna offers Jacob an index card and her pen. He scratches out his name and passes it along to Moses, who does the same. Nola takes it and quickly shoves it into her book before running away.

“How many books of mine have you read, Jacob?” Layna asks, smiling so wide it looks almost painful. “And when did you start passing them on to little cousins that may or may not exist?”

“I just thought they might like them,” Jacob says, trying to ignore how warm his face feels. “It turns out you’re way better at writing than you are at blaseball.”

Layna barks out a laugh, surprising him. “I should hope so! It certainly pays more.”

The fundraiser passes in a blur after that, a flurry of fan after fan approaching their table. True to their word, Layna and Moses introduce him every time; Jacob signs autographs until his hands cramp up, and even takes a few selfies with people. Every now and then, Moses or Layna will get up to bring refills to the table, until the number of empty glasses reaches outrageous proportions and Margo cuts them off.

By then, though, the last of the patrons is wandering out the door and things are winding down for the night. Nic and Margo are still behind the counter, bickering about who’s in charge of sweeping the floor, and King is still sipping on what might be his first and only glass of whiskey. Everyone else has gone home.

Moses is the first to stand up from their booth, extending a hand to Jacob. He stumbles out with a little help and lands unsteadily on his feet.

“You all owe me _so_ much money,” Margo calls out from behind the bar. “This was supposed to be a fundraiser, you lousy drunks!”

Layna wiggles out of her seat, looking every bit as off balance as Jacob feels. “Put it on my tab, Marge!” she calls back. She steps over to Moses and slides under their arm. “I’ll have my people call your people, or something.”

Margo waves them all off with a dish towel. Moses wraps their free arm around Jacob’s waist and pulls, turning him toward the exit. Jacob allows himself to be led, extending an arm around Moses and resting his hand on Layna’s shoulder.

The air outside is cool against Jacob’s face, and he almost regrets not having brought a jacket. But Moses is warm against him; he leans into them just slightly, hoping they won’t notice. Or that, if they do, they don’t mind.

“I can’t take you two anywhere,” they say, as their thumb starts rubbing circles over Jacob’s ribs. “I might have expected this behavior from Layna. She’s a lightweight. But Jacob? I thought you’d be able to drink us both under the table without even blinking.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roses. I’m stone-cold sober.”

Jacob completely ruins the delivery by tripping over the toe of his own shoe. It’s worth it when Moses laughs, gripping him tighter to keep him from falling.

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me Roses before,” Moses says, and their smile catches the shine of the streetlight they’re walking under. Jacob’s breath hitches in his chest.

There’s no time to linger on it, though; Layna is on him almost immediately, arms wrapped around his neck. “A breakthrough!” she shouts, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Moses, he’s coming around on this whole transformation thing after all!”

Jacob is hyperaware of every point of contact. The feel of Layna’s hair, soft against the curve of his neck. Her arms, her hands. Moses’ grip on his waist, now the only thing keeping him upright. Everything collides at once, loud as a feedback strike in center field.

“I…” he starts, looking between them both. “I didn’t realize that.”

He didn’t realize a lot of things, he thinks.

“We’ll count it as a win for the night,” Moses says, somehow still startlingly calm. Jacob wonders if they can see the frantic energy building inside him. He wonders if they understand _why._ “But let’s not take anything stone-cold sober Jacob says too far out of context until he’s had some time to sleep on it. The clubhouse isn’t too far.”

Jacob is moving at the speed of sound. Jacob is moving in slow-motion. Jacob is not sure how he is moving, actually, but he’s pretty sure this is about to be the longest walk home of his life.

“Oh, by all means,” Layna says, coming around to stand on Jacob’s other side. He misses the contact, suddenly, but isn’t quite sure how to ask for it back. “Lead our Jacob home.”

Jacob wakes in the morning to find himself tucked safely into his bed, still in the clothes he wore the night before. He feels greasy and hungover, and when he stands, the ground shifts beneath him. It takes him an extra twenty minutes to make it to the bathroom, to fight through the nausea and his shaky knees.

The smeared remains of Layna’s lipstick still color his cheek. Some of Moses’ flowers are twisted into his hair.

\--

“Just keep your eye on the ball, now, Hollywood!” Margo yells, voice a little gravelly. “King, go easy on her. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Jacob wishes that weren’t true. It’s been hours of this, standing in the field and diving for one hit after another. Normally he’d at least get a round at bat to break it up, but Margo had told him on no uncertain terms that other players needed it more.

Having watched Layna strike out five times in a row over the last hour, he’s pretty sure Margo was referring to her specifically. It’s hardly her fault; peanuts tend to have that effect on people.

“Sorry!” Layna calls back, leaning on her bat. She wipes a hand across her forehead, pushing away the curls that have come loose from her unruly ponytail. “I’ll get the next one!”

Jacob watches King on the pitcher’s mound, small clouds swirling around his head as he prepares for another pitch. Even in the off season, King is still dressed up in a three-piece suit; no amount of party time could loosen up that tie, Jacob thinks.

It’s not a particularly difficult pitch. King lobs it right to where Layna needs it, not quite the powerhouse number he’s known for but enough to make it over the plate. Jacob can see her scrunching her face up as she swings, trying so hard to make something happen.

_Thunk!_

“Oh my god!” she shouts, bat flying from her hand. It lands close to the dugout, startling Inez into disbanding.

The ball bounces along the third base line, straight into Moses’ glove.

“You’re supposed to run, Layna,” they say.

“Oh, _nuts!”_ she yells, and takes off toward first.

Moses looks over to Jacob, their face split by a wide, picture-perfect grin. “Should we let her have this one?”

It feels like Jacob went to step onto an elevator found nothing but air. Suddenly every part of him is falling, destined for the fatal impact of concrete reality below.

“Sure,” he says, tongue like sandpaper in his mouth.

Cheers erupt from the other side of the field. Jacob turns to see Layna, surrounded by a cloud of dust and chalk and lying on her stomach across first base. Next to him, Moses laughs. It’s something Jacob has heard a hundred times, maybe more; this time, it twists his stomach into knots.

\--

Jacob is alone in his hotel room when he gets a knock at his door. People have been running past and calling to each other all afternoon as Hlomecoming preparations kick into high gear, but no one has actually bothered him for anything yet.

He opens the door to find Layna there, holding a tote bag and high heels. “Do you have a spare outlet? I swear, every single person in this hotel has decided they need to charge their phones in my room.”

“Oh, sure,” Jacob says. He steps back and motions for her to follow.

“Perfect!” She hasn’t done her makeup or gotten dressed yet, hair pulled back into a bun. She still looks wonderful, somehow. “Moses is on their way over too, but they’re just coming for the company.”

“I’ll leave the door open, then.”

Layna drops down on the floor just inside the door, in front of the hotel mirror. Jacob has to step around her as she sets up a hair curler and lines up her makeup. He doesn’t need to start getting ready yet, so he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed to watch her.

“Are you planning on wearing any essential oils tonight?” Layna asks. She’s let her hair down and is carefully sectioning it out into portions.

Jacob has spent a fair amount of time this morning trying to decide exactly that. He’d actually bought some cologne months ago, specifically for fancy events like this. It’s different from his usual fare, a blend of mahogany and cinnamon. But now he’s not so sure; if he wears cologne, Layna isn’t going to come anywhere near him, and that is exactly the opposite of how he’d like to spend his evening.

“I have something picked out, but I’m not sold on it,” he says. Layna makes a face. “What?”

“Can you bring it to me? I want to smell.” She turns her head to look at him, even as she rolls the first strand of hair around her iron. “It’s got to smell better than you normally do, or I’m not going to dance with you at all.”

Jacob has a lot of questions about that. So many, in fact, that he isn’t sure where to start. Layna turns back to the mirror to focus on her work, apparently assuming that Jacob will do as he’s told. Which he does.

He digs around in his bag, grips the bottle in his fist. “What do I,” he starts, then stops. Swallows and tries again. “What do I normally smell like?”

“I’m told you smell ‘like sunbaked clay,’” comes Moses’ voice. Jacob jumps and turns around to find them standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. They’re already dressed up for the occasion, in a fitted suit with embroidered roses along the lapels and outer pant seam. “I personally like when you use the essential oils, but that’s just me. Also, hi.”

They step into the room and close the door behind. It’s a small motion, but the click of the latch just might be the loudest thing Jacob has ever heard.

“Hi.” Jacob is trying very hard not to stare. He’s failing, he knows. “Uh, isn’t clay just dirt? Should I be offended?”

There’s something overwhelming about the idea that Layna and Moses have discussed this. The idea that they have talked about Jacob when he’s not there, more so than just his ability to hit a ball.

“It’s very grounding, actually,” Layna says. “You almost smell like a summer day in the Moab, before the whole Hellmouth thing. Now it just smells like sulfur and burnt hair all the time.”

“Oh,” Jacob says. He’s not really sure what else he _could_ say to that, so he brings the cologne over to Layna instead.

She takes it from him and unscrews the cap, tips a little bit out onto a cotton ball. Within a moment she’s making a face and holding it out to Jacob, shaking her head.

“No, no,” she insists. “No, you smell _so_ much better than that on your own. I will literally dance with you all night if you promise not to wear that around me.”

Moses shakes their head at that. “You will not, you promised I’d get a turn.”

Jacob has learned to live with certain things. He may not understand it, but sometimes peanuts fall from the sky and birds gather in the stadium by the thousands. Sometimes, players steal each other’s blood in freak lightning strikes. The world is backwards and upside down and twisted.

And yet somehow, Jacob thinks, this conversation may be the most surreal thing he’s ever been a part of. It is way more likely that he would have been incinerated, he thinks, than that he would end up watching Layna and Moses bicker over who gets to dance with him.

“Don’t you two want to dance with each other?” he asks.

“Sure, and we will,” Moses tells him. “But Layna’s also going to dance with you, and then it’s my turn after that. Assuming you’re fine with it.”

“Yes, it’s – fine, yeah, that’s. That would be great.” Jacob cannot possibly get the words out fast enough. He can feel his face heating up; he’s absolutely sure he’s blushing, but thankfully, Moses doesn’t comment.

“Great,” Moses says, and they’re smirking, “otherwise I’m not sure what we would have done with the coat we brought along for you.”

“The what?”

“Your suitcoat!” Layna repeats, as if that clears everything up. “If you’re going to be our date, Jake, you have to match the color scheme. Don’t worry, it’s going to look amazing on you.”

When he pulls it on later, Jacob has to admit she’s right. It does look pretty nice.

\--

Moses and Layna are both fantastic dancers.

They haven’t actually danced with Jacob yet, but that’s more his doing than theirs. When the music started, he’d waved them off and said he wanted to grab drinks and socialize for a bit. That had been a lie, actually, an excuse to watch them together before he got involved in anything. He doesn’t regret it; he needs the extra time to prepare for whatever is about to happen.

Within moments of sitting down on the outskirts, Jacob is found by none other than Margarito Nava. Xe’s wearing what may be the most obnoxious floral jacket Jacob has ever seen – over a pair of _shorts_ , no less, and even Jacob has a better understanding of formal dress code than that. But somehow, xe pulls it off.

“You have to stop hanging out on the edges of everything, Jake!” Margo lectures, pointing at him over the rim of something alcoholic. “Here I’d thought Roses and Layna had knocked that out of you.”

“Has it occurred to you that at least a dozen people here have the capacity to literally kill us?” Jacob says. “Like, if I go out there and spill my drink on Allison freaking Abbott, that’s it for me. Nail bat to the head, instant death.”

“Never,” Margo intones. “She wouldn’t want to stain her formal flannel with your entirely average blood, man. I’d be more worried about Sutton Bishop. Did you know geese are strong enough to break human bones?”

“This is your idea of a pep talk, coach?” Jacob asks.

“Oh, no. I’m not the morale guy.” Margo motions xir head toward the bar, where Nic is ordering something to drink. “You want a pep talk, go speak with my partner. I’m just here to make fun of you until you’re forced to change your behavior out of embarrassment.”

“Does that work on anyone? Ever?”

“Made Layna stop tearing up the couch cushions,” xe says. “Mostly.”

Jacob laughs without meaning to, immediately looking over to Layna and Moses. They’re so close together it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins; Layna even braided mayflowers into her hair for the night, plucked from the Boston Garden.

“How did you decide to tell Nic how you felt?” Jacob asks, before he can overthink it and stop himself. He knows the jump in conversation is glaringly obvious, but he figures Margo probably knows all his cards by now anyway.

Margo hums, sitting back and placing xir drink down on the table. Xe’s watching Moses and Layna too, mouth pulled to one side. “We were up against the Mills in a solar eclipse. An ump went rogue – you know, that really annoying murder spree thing they do?”

Jacob knocks his foot against Margo’s under the table. “Sure do.”

“Yeah. One of those. Nic was up to bat.” Margo plays with xir straw, ice clinking against the glass. “It’s always scary, but that was the worst feeling I’d had in a while.”

Jacob thinks he remembers that. There have been so many terrifying moments in the history of their team, and the number of breakdowns in the dugout is beyond what he can count. But he remembers Margo screaming Nic’s name and running for the dugout exit, only for Gloria and Inez to force xir back.

“I figured, even if he said he didn’t want anything, we were in a good enough place to get through it and be friends on the other side.” Xe pauses, looking to Jacob and raising an eyebrow. “Or I’d die. So like, same difference.”

Jacob clinks his beer against Margarito’s glass. “Here, here.”

Nic approaches the table then, hands full of drinks and finger foods from the appetizer table. “What are we toasting?” he asks, setting down about six different plates.

“Jacob’s going to confess his love for Moses tonight,” Margo says, and Jacob chokes on his drink. “And also possibly Layna. Are you there yet with her? It’s a little hard to tell, what with the fact she’s always leaving her lipstick all over your face.”

“Oh, my god,” Jacob wheezes, holding a hand in front of his mouth. “Not so loud, please? Or so blatant?”

Nic offers him a napkin. It’s a nice gesture, except for the part where he’s clearly fighting back laughter.

“Look,” Margo says. “We’re here for you, buddy, but I have to say… you absolutely do not have to worry about this one. You aren’t stealing bases; you’re just telling them what they already know.”

“Incoming,” Nic mutters.

It’s barely enough of a warning. Within moments, Moses is dropping into the chair next to Jacob and placing a hand on his shoulder. Layna comes to stand on the other side of him, fingers coming to rest on the back of his neck.

She looks down at him and smiles, canines glinting in the dim light. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” Jacob says, though it comes out a little breathless. He doesn’t have to look to know Margarito and Nic are laughing at him. At the moment, it’s hard to care.

“I’m pretty sure you owe us both a dance,” she says. She runs a nail along the hair at the base of his skull and he thinks, not for the first time, that this whole endeavor will be the death of him.

At least he’ll die happy.

“Sure,” Jacob says. He stands, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding. “I take it you’re first?”

Layna nods, taking his hand in hers. Jacob lets himself be led to the dancefloor, lets Layna guide his hands to her waist. She wraps her arms around his shoulders as the music starts. Jacob is glad for the sheer number of players in the league; there are so many other people on the floor, no one is going to be paying them any mind.

Dancing has never been his strong suit. Much like running bases, his feet always feel a little too big and he finds himself tripping in his effort to keep pace. Layna doesn’t force it; they mostly stick to swaying back and forth, occasionally moving to avoid collisions.

They’re quiet for the entire first song. Jacob has no clue where to start, doesn’t know what to say to get his point across. Layna leans her head against his chest as the song ends, but she doesn’t let go or leave; Jacob doesn’t either.

“Are you going to tell me now?” she asks, and he thinks he can hear a smile in her voice.

 _Hellhound_ , Jacob thinks. Damn it all.

“You heard?” he asks.

She nods, and he can feel her laughing against him. He groans quietly, staring up at the ceiling. The next song starts up; he barely even notices, too busy trying to figure out how to manifest a sinkhole directly beneath his feet.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Moses,” she promises. One of her hands moves to his chest, coming to stop over his heart. “They’ll appreciate the surprise, I think.”

“Is it actually that surprising?”

“Probably not as much as you thought it would be. Honestly, we were only laying it on so thick today because we wanted to make sure you knew it was okay.”

Layna starts swaying back and forth to the music again, gently pushing Jacob to do the same. He follows, staring decidedly at the space over her head.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Come on, Jake, look at me?”

He’s barely even tilted his head down before she’s kissing him. He gasps, instinctively moving one arm to the small of her back. She laughs against his mouth, pulls his lip with her teeth.

“See?” she asks. She kisses him again, quick and feather-light. “One down! Wasn’t so hard.”

“Can you just tell Moses for me?” Jacob mutters. “You’re better at this stuff than I am.”

“No, that would hardly be fair. They wouldn’t get to see you all worked up like this,” she says, pulling away a bit to look him over. “Although the lipstick will probably be a dead giveaway.”

“I’m sure Margo and Nic will get a kick out of it, too,” Jacob says, automatically reaching a hand up to swipe it away. Layna laughs again, reaching up to run her thumb across his mouth.

“Who cares?” she asks. “I once saw Margo burst into tears because Nic remembered to pick up xir favorite cereal from the store. Xe does not have a leg to stand on.”

They wait out the end of the second dance before separating. Layna excuses herself to the bathroom to fix her makeup, leaving Jacob to do the hard part all on his own. He would hold it against her, except for the part where he feels a little bit like he’s floating.

The others are gone when Jacob makes it back to the table, leaving just Moses there to greet him. They make their way to standing and straighten their suit jacket.

“My turn?” they ask, holding out an arm.

Jacob takes it. He cannot comprehend how he got this lucky. “Actually, would you mind if we stepped outside for a bit?” he asks. “I think I need some fresh air.”

Moses nods, automatically moving toward the exit. Jacob finds himself leaning against them for support; he’s still reeling from dancing with Layna. From _kissing_ her.

It’s warmer outside than Jacob expected. The Dallas winter is mild at most, barely enough to need a jacket. People are gathered near the doorway, surrounding them with the red pinprick light of cigarettes and the hum of quiet conversation. Jacob and Moses keep walking until they turn the corner of the building, out of sight and away from everyone else.

“Good?” Moses asks, motioning to the brick wall. Jacob nods and lets go of their arm, leaning on that for support instead. They follow suit, one shoulder pressed against the wall but body turned toward him.

Jacob takes a deep breath. He lets it out slow. He thinks of Beck and Cali, of Margo and Nic, of all these people who made the decision to say the words out loud despite the fear and the pain that come with them.

“Do you remember how you calmed me down when I was freaking out about blooddrain?” Jacob asks. Moses’s eyes narrow, head tilted to one side. “Like, a year ago now. When I asked how you could stay positive all the time.”

They run a hand through their hair, disturbing the flowers and filling the nighttime breeze with the smell. “Let’s run away to Tokyo, I bet they don’t have to deal with any of this crap,” they guess.

Jacob bites his lip and shakes his head. “Not quite.”

“Fuck the peanut?” they try again.

That startles a laugh at him, and he looks over at Moses to find them laughing too. “Closer. It was peanut-adjacent.”

“Well, Jake, since I clearly made a very memorable impression on you,” Moses says, “why don’t you tell me what I said?”

Jacob nods. He turns his body to face Moses, barely half a foot between them now. Moses’ eyes are dark, hidden in shadows but focused intently on him nonetheless.

“You told me you weren’t going to let a peanut get in the way of your happiness,” Jacob says. His eyes flick down to Moses’ lips, just for a moment; he knows for a fact they saw, and he isn’t sure he cares.

“I see,” Moses says. Jacob sees them start to move a hand, watches them pull back. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Jacob takes a deep breath. Layna had told him this wouldn’t be a surprise; Moses knows what’s about to happen. It shouldn’t be so hard.

“I think I’ve been getting in the way of my own happiness for a while now,” Jacob says. This time he reaches out, placing a hand on Moses’ waist beneath their jacket.

“Is that so?”

Jacob nods, leaning in. Moses lets him come, lets him get so close their mouths are just an inch apart. Their breath smells like peppermint.

“I think it’s about time I stopped doing that,” Jacob says, so quiet it’s barely more than an exhale.

“Then come here.”

And Jacob does, pushing them back against the wall to kiss them properly.

When he wakes up in the morning, Jacob is squished between Layna and Moses on the bed in their hotel room. They’re both still asleep, still covered in makeup and flowers and smelling a bit like alcohol. Jacob wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

\--

Election Day has brought the Boston Flowers a lot of things. They’ve gotten improved stats, party time, new divisions that are a little less cutthroat. It also brought them Alaynabella Hollywood – that one, Jacob thinks, is probably the best one.

He doesn’t know what to expect this time, though. The push for grass blood, whatever that means, makes sense; it’s just that he isn’t sure he wants it.

“Beck says electric blood didn’t change anyone that much,” Moses reminds him, thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand. “It mostly just made them more energetic, I guess.”

“The last thing I need is more energy,” Jacob says. “One existential crisis a day is more than enough.”

Layna is running her fingers through Jacob’s hair. Between the two of them, he should be more relaxed than he’s ever been in his life. He’s not as worked up about all of this as he might have been, before; he’s still not looking forward to it.

They’re watching the results roll in on the television in Moses’ room. Jacob hadn’t wanted to watch this one in front of everyone, for them all to turn to check on him when whatever transformation started happening.

“You’ll be okay, Jake,” Layna tells him. She presses her lips to his temple briefly, eyes still glued to the screen.

Jacob takes a deep breath. He squeezes Layna’s knee, more for his comfort than hers. “I know I will,” he says. “A little grass never hurt anyone.”

And even if it does, he thinks, he’s got plenty of people around him who know how to handle a transformation. So he closes his eyes, and he waits.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me @leonstamatis on tumblr, or let me know what you think in the discord. i'm @blink, and i am not at all active anywhere, but you can find me in the wild low clubhouse and the main blaseball discord. peace, y'all.


End file.
